Had He Died
by Eady of Old
Summary: Struggling with guilt and the thought that Anna would have been better off if they'd never met, Bates must face his doubts by witnessing the world as it would have been had he died years before. *Spoilers through S5.*
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **Struggling with guilt and the thought that Anna would have been better off if they'd never met, Bates must face his doubts by witnessing the world as it would have been had he died years before. *Spoilers through S5.*

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Downton Abbey or "It's a Wonderful Life."

**A/N: Spoilers through S5E8 and an implied resolution in the CS. I started writing this a few weeks ago in preparation for the holidays as "It's a Wonderful Life" is my favorite Christmas movie. It was a bit too long to post as a one-shot so I am breaking it into two parts. I know there's another Anna/Bates story out there by Downtonluvr based on the same concept. I had already started writing this story, and I deliberately haven't read that story yet so it wouldn't influence my writing on this. **

**As always, reviews are appreciated.**

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><p>She never talked about the weeks she spent in prison awaiting trial for Green's murder - not to her husband or anyone else. He asked her once or twice, but Anna had no words, and she knew he would not press her. He understood all too well.<p>

Bates feared the experience would leave her a broken shell of her former self, that her time behind bars would require years of patience and healing, much as they encountered following the attack she endured. But Anna blended back into her former life with seamless enthusiasm. If anything, it was as though a weight had finally been lifted from her. She laughed more easily and the clouds which sometimes threatened to bring a swift end to her good moods began to dissipate.

No more secrets stood between them. Green was not only dead and buried, but the entire business had finally been laid to rest. Anna no longer had to wrestle with the worries which had plagued her for so long - was her husband guilty of murder? Would he be arrested and taken from her again? Would she unwittingly lead to his death at the end of a noose?

"I'm just so relieved that it is all over and done with," she told him one night when he pressed her. Anna looked slightly away from him, her body going still as she added, "He can't hurt us any more."

"No, he cannot," Bates agreed.

But her words - over and done with - pulled at his conscience.

His moods did not improve as Anna's had. The guilt remained in him, festering and growing like an untended wound. This beautiful, amazing woman treated him like the most perfect, thoughtful and honorable husband, but he was none of those things. His failures had led to her being violated, to being shackled by the police and imprisoned like a common criminal.

And in the end, Lady Mary had found the proof to set Anna free, not Bates. Another failure.

He loved his wife, but what good was that love to her? What good was he for her?

The more he thought about Anna's life since he had proposed marriage, the more support he found for the conclusion that he was a curse on her. Vera had threatened to ruin her by exposing the business with Lady Mary and Mr. Pamuk, a tale his first wife would have had no reason to involve herself in but for getting back at him. Bates still regretted how much pain he'd brought that night when he'd walked out of Anna's life and left her sobbing in the courtyard.

Anna had offered to live in sin with him, he remembered, and it was not the last time she made the suggestion. It sometimes made him ill to consider what that offer had cost a woman of Anna's faith and conviction, to debase herself in such a manner. If Vera hadn't killed herself, would he have gone through with such a plan? Could he really have done that to Anna? In selfishness and greed, could he have brought her so low and stripped from her such precious legitimacy? He liked to think himself an honorable man, but Bates knew himself to be weak as well. And Anna's love was irresistible.

Bates knew that had he been truly honorable, he never would have married her, not while the police suspected him in Vera's death. In doing so he'd sentenced her to life as the wife of a murderer. Perhaps it would have been easier if they had hung him for the crime and made her a widow, but with the sentence commuted to live in prison... Anna was stuck, trapped in a marriage she could never escape even if she wanted out. Even though he'd been let out of prison, she would always face those whispered voices.

Letting out a pained sigh, his mind skipped over all the work she'd done to free him, the elation he'd seen in her face as she met him at the prison door upon his release. Anna's joy was her own, and he refused to take credit for any happiness which was properly hers by right.

And of course, there was the house party.

And Mr. Green.

He shuddered with guilt and anger and disgust as he thought of that vile man, his fists clenching as he imagined his hands around Green's neck, squeezing the life from the valet's body. Killing him would have brought satisfaction, certainly, but it also might have spared Anna the horror and indignity of a false arrest. Another failure on his part, to keep her safe. Another experience he would have gladly traded his life to spare her.

Anna continued to act as though everything was better, as though she were completely unaffected by what had transpired. And in her cheery indifference, Bates felt the seeds of his own self loathing sprout and mature.

She would be better off without him. As the years progressed, his limp would get worse and worse until he was forced to retire from service and depend entirely upon her. And in his final days, he would be a burden to his beautiful young wife, something to be pitied and cared for, not relied upon for support as she ought. And while Bates had no doubt that Anna's love would never waver, he wondered if it wouldn't be better for her if it did.

Where would she be if he had not come to Downton? Would she have married another man, bore his children? Would someone else have kept her safe when he had failed her? At the very least, she would have been spared the pain her association with him had brought her.

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><p>He sat reclined in one of the chairs in their parlor, much more relaxed at home than he would ever display in public, although across from him on the couch, Anna's back was straight and her shoulders back as she knitted some project he did not understand. She was always working, even in her few idle moments at home. Bates watched her for a time, ignoring the book which sat open on his lap.<p>

The adjective 'beautiful' did not really do his wife justice. Despite being tiny and pale, she was all softness and curves rather than sharp angles like so many other women of a similar build. And beyond that, Anna radiated a quiet warmth, as though she were a small star and anyone in her orbit was unknowingly bathed in her light and kindness.

"What are you staring at, Mister Bates?" she chided him gently, looking up with laughing eyes over her knitting needles.

"Just you," he confessed.

"Any particular reason?"

Anna was teasing him, he knew, trying to draw him out of the funk he'd fallen into over the past weeks. Part of Bates wished that he could succumb to her charm and let go of all his doubts and misgivings. But deep down, it felt wrong to accept her gentle comfort, not when she'd been the one to suffer so cruelly.

"No reason."

If he were truthful, he would have answered her that he could think of little beyond her ordeal in prison. His wife had been shackled and marched out of her employers' home by police officers, taken from all those who held her dear, and placed behind bars for a crime she would never have committed in a lifetime, no matter what her motives. And still, Bates knew that she was relieved they'd taken her and not him. She'd confessed it to him when he first went to visit her in prison, and those words had stayed with him ever since.

_"I'm just so glad they don't think it was you."_

There had been tears in her eyes as she told him that, her hands unconsciously wringing on the table before her as she tried to find the missing ring from her left hand. The police had returned it to her later when they let her go, but just the sight of her without it for the visit had set Bates' mind reeling. He still could not banish that image from his mind.

"Are you tired?" Anna asked him. "We could head up to bed."

He shook his head. "Not just yet."

But he could see her eyes were drooping with fatigue, and the hour was growing late. "You go up," he suggested. "I'll follow in a little while."

Setting aside her knitting, Anna nodded in agreement. "Just don't stay up to all hours reading," she warned him.

"I won't."

She leaned over to give him a kiss before leaving him alone in their parlor, the light cast from the lamps seeming to dim with her absence. Anna always made everything brighter, and the time he'd recently spent without her there bore that out.

His book was left forgotten as he stared into space, his mind engaged in the sort of all consuming brooding that Anna would have frowned at him for if she'd seen. But he could not turn off the doubts that whispered to him in the dark, the worry for his wife, who had endured so much with so little given back to her in return. They had dreamed of children for so long, but that wish still went unfulfilled, and Bates had a strong notion that he was at fault, not Anna. After all, Vera had never gotten with child in all the years of their marriage, and it seemed more likely there was something wrong with him than a young woman like Anna. And if it was him, then he was cheating her out of the family she'd been wanting for years, the babes which would have been lucky to be birthed into her love and raised by the likes of Anna Smith.

Sighing, he corrected himself - _Anna Bates_. She had once told him that she was meant to be Mrs. Bates, and she'd have been uneasy in her grave if she'd died under a different name. But he wondered if the name wasn't a curse for her, a promise of nothing but continued sorrow and pain. Even if she had married someone as dull and unassuming as Mr. Molesley, or never married at all, at least she might have had a chance at greater happiness than Bates had bestowed upon her.

The lamps burned low as the hours passed, and at some point, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

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><p>"Bates, wake up."<p>

The voice was familiar and commanding, but he found it difficult to search through the fog for the origin. Everything was off, as though he were mired and could not move, but events kept occurring around him with alarming speed.

"Milord?" he asked, even as he identified the person calling to him.

Out of the mists stepped Lord Grantham, except he was clad in the red coated dress uniform of the Lord Lieutenant, complete with medals. Automatically, Bates stood to attention, but the Earl seemed not to see him.

"Private Bates, what are you about?"

"I think I saw something, sir," he found himself saying, as he stared into the distance in the same direction as the officer.

And in that moment, Bates realized where he was - in South Africa during the latter portion of 1901. The column was on its way to root out a group of enemy fighters, and while they were always alert to the possibility of ambush, there was belief that the information received was accurate and the Boers were hidden miles away. But he'd seen something not far off which just did not feel right. Glancing at Captain Crawley, Bates noticed that his uniform had morphed, the way things sometimes did in dreams, into a regular uniform more suited to their surroundings.

"What did you see?"

"I'm not sure how to describe it."

He never had been. Was it a flash of sunlight on metal? A movement near the hills to the East which should not have caught his attention? Or perhaps it was a smell, foreign to the wilderness but reminiscent of soldier-filled barracks which he caught when the wind suddenly changed directions? Either way, something had tickled the back of his mind and he'd spoken up promptly.

"I need something more than a gut feeling, Bates," Captain Crawley chastised him.

But in the end, it did not matter. There was no time to move into defensive positions before the first shots rang out. Gunfire erupted from the hills Bates had been staring at moments before, followed by the sounds of the British soldiers as they quickly moved to react. Even as his commander was calling out orders to the others, a distant boom sounded, and his attention was drawn to the distinctive whine of a shell growing steadily nearer. Bates reacted instinctively, as a batman should, and he threw Captain Crawley to the ground, covering the man with his body. The chaos around them suddenly went dark and sounds faded. Bates felt pain for a moment, but only a moment, and it was quickly swallowed up by a warm nothingness both familiar and new.

Time shifted and shattered as his perceptions exploded into millions of tiny pieces. Sound became sight, which took over for feeling. Smell and taste were completely gone as gradually Bates emerged into the other side. White light surrounded him like deep water, and Bates looked around himself for some frame of reference. But none could be found. The battlefield was gone. Lord Grantham was gone. Everything - swallowed up by light.

"Bates."

He recognized the voice, although it might have repeated itself a hundred times before he understood the meaning of the word to be his name. And he knew the man speaking it. He blinked his eyes to see a uniformed Captain Crawley, whole and healthy.

But instead of Lord Grantham, it was a different Captain Crawley - Matthew, the heir to the estate. But with a sinking feeling, Bates recalled that the young man was dead, long dead, having died in a car accident the same day his only son was born.

"Where am I?" Bates asked the man, suspecting that he already knew the answer. He looked around them only to see a vast array of nothingness, an empty void he could not quite describe.

Matthew looked at him kindly, with an expression of perpetual amusement.

"The good news is, you aren't in hell," the man told him with a small chuckle. "The bad news is, you aren't in heaven either. You seem to have been caught in between for a time. And while they get things sorted out, I'm to stay with you."

Bates raised both eyebrows in surprise. "They?" he asked.

Matthew shrugged. "The powers that be, for lack of a better term. The ones who decide if we die suddenly or at the end of a long life, surrounded by family and children."

"How did I die?" Bates asked.

The other man paused, considering for a moment. Finally, he revealed, "You were killed in military action the 2nd of October in South Africa, during the second Boer War. You saved the life of your commanding officer, Robert Crawley, but sadly you succumbed to injuries sustained in battle..."

Shaking his head in confusion, the valet stated, "But I didn't die that day. I was injured, surely, but I did not die."

Matthew looked from him to the ground - as white as everything else - and then back again. "You did die. Or rather, you were supposed to die that day. You were allowed to live, after coming to a place much like this. Your chance to return came upon the promise of changing your life and having the opportunity to be a better person."

Dumbfounded by this revelation, Bates asked softly, "I was never supposed to live?"

A shake of the head preceded the answer, "I'm afraid not."

"Then what-"

The other man cut in, "You begged to live, last time you were in this place. You were shown how life would be for others if you died on the field this day, and after getting a good idea of what was to come, you made the decision to live. Now, it seems, you've gone back on your promises and you doubt whether the decision made before was the right one."

Confused, Bates said slowly, "I have no memory of this earlier time."

"Of course you don't. You should remember nothing but your time on Earth as a human being."

Before he could dispute that reasoning, the specter of Matthew Crawley said, "Whether you remember it or not, I'm afraid you're here for a reason, Bates."

The lighted space they were in slowly dimmed until the valet found himself swallowed up by the darkness. He took in a deep breath as the silence stretched on and on until it was finally broken by the words of Lord Grantham himself. Reality snapped back into focus, although everything seemed obscured by a strange mist.

"This can't be," his commanding officer said to someone standing a few feet away. Lord Grantham's familiar tones soothed him for only an instant before the man's grief became apparent. "He was just here a few hours ago. He can't be dead."

Another voice, a medic perhaps, said slowly, "His injuries were just too grave. A fever took him in the night. Nothing could be done."

And suddenly the mist cleared, and Bates saw the scene for himself. It was a field hospital in Africa, where they'd taken him after the ambush. But the bed Lord Grantham - Captain Crawley - stood next to was occupied by another man, and the medic he spoke to was shaking his head with a touch of sadness.

He was dead. Bates was dead.

"But that's not how it happened," he said aloud. Matthew stepped forward, the two of them unseen by those in the field hospital.

"It is how it happened now. But at the time you made a convincing case for life. You had a great deal to live for - a wife back home, a promising career, a mother who needed you. So you were granted a reprieve."

Bates snorted in disbelief. "By God?" he questioned.

"By God. Or the Fates, or the universe itself," the younger man said with a smile. "Not everyone is given such an opportunity, you know."

There was pain in Matthew's eyes as he spoke, and Bates wondered why he had been granted a second chance at life when the Crawley heir had not. He had died a young man, with a wife and new baby boy waiting for him. And what about William, killed in the war? Or even young Sybil, so beautiful and also with a new child? Why, compared to such others, was Bates given another opportunity at life?

"Perhaps because you sacrificed yourself," Matthew answered his silent questions. "You saved Robert. Without a moment to even think about it, you did what you needed to do to keep him safe."

"It was instinct," he defended.

"An instinct to save another rather than yourself," the other man pointed out, "is a rare and selfless thing. I don't know for sure, but I would wager it earned you a second chance at life."

Bates stared back at him for a moment, trying to comprehend the realities he was setting forth. The fact that a dead man was talking to him at all either meant that it was true, or he had finally cracked and gone completely mad. Finally, he decided to at least play along with the vision, even if he was unsure of its reality.

He asked slowly, "But now that second chance has been revoked?"

Matthew's friendly expression turned somber. "Yes. Your regrets have become too much, it seems. Whatever force was behind giving you another go at life has no wish to see you living to hate the gift which was bestowed."

With a sigh, Bates said, "Then perhaps it is for the best. I did not know the opportunity I had, and I not only squandered it but caused a great deal of heartache to those I love."

The young man in soldier's dress nodded solemnly. "Then it will be as though you died on this battlefield. None of your life which came after will occur again. Those you knew later will have never met you. Your mother will mourn you. Your wife, Vera, will remarry, although she will find no happiness there."

"What of Anna?" Bates asked.

A pause, ripe with unspoken details. "She will never know you existed."

"May I see her?"

Matthew considered the request. "Yes. But first, you should see something else."

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><p>"This is the world now, without you."<p>

The library was much as Bates remembered it. A few pieces of furniture were arranged differently, some artwork having changed a bit from what he recalled, but for the most part, it was the same. Only the occupants of the room seemed altered.

"I don't want to go," Lord Grantham stated, sounding for all the world like a petulant child. But unlike a young boy, he slurred his words, the hint at his intoxication utterly unnecessarily in light of how much the beverage in his hand sloshed inside the glass.

"Robert, please," his wife appealed, "you promised you'd make an effort."

Rolling his eyes with exaggerated annoyance, the Earl demanded, "And why should I? They were rude to us last time we attended one of these God-forsaken... soirees. I swore I'd never go again, not even if they were to.. beg me."

"They weren't rude," she answered. "That is just how you remember things. And we both know that your perception isn't the best."

Lord Grantham stared at her, his irritation suddenly solidifying into a cold, hard core of anger. "And just what is that supposed to mean?" he inquired.

"Nothing, just that you..."

"That I - what?"

Shaking her head, Lady Grantham said quietly, "You're drunk, Robert. You were drunk that night and you're drunk tonight. I know you've had a hard time since Matthew died but-"

He glared at her, appearing surprised at her frankness. "I refuse to listen to my own wife slander me in my own home."

"It isn't slander if it is true."

Bates turned to Matthew, who stood by looking just as sad and forlorn with the situation as he felt. "How long has he been this way?" the valet asked.

Neither paid much attention as the lord and lady squabbled together in the background. The younger man answered, "He had a drinking problem years ago, when he came back from serving in Africa, but he managed to keep it under control a long time. Lately it has only gotten worse."

The library door opened and Lady Mary entered, followed by Lady Edith. The couple stopped their fighting at the sight of the two women, although neither seemed surprised by the abrupt silence.

"Have you talked him into going with us?" Lady Edith asked her mother.

Lady Grantham's face pinched painfully as she attempted to maintain a pleasant countenance. "We've been discussing it."

"What discussion?" the Earl muttered.

"Papa, it is just a dinner party."

Edith's attempt to appeal to him did little to calm his outraged state.

"Just a dinner party?" he demanded. "Just a dinner party where I am to be treated as a social pariah yet again."

Mary spoke for the first time since arriving, but only murmured to herself, "You fit in with the rest of us."

She engaged in no further conversation, but settled herself quietly back into the cushions of the couch, her expression vacant and hallow.

Matthew leaned into Bates and explained, "The scandal regarding the Turkish ambassador got out and Mary was ruined socially. She and I still married, but many thought she did so out of desperation. Since my death, she's been... slow to come out of herself again."

Bates looked at Matthew and saw the grief and guilt reflected in that man's eyes as he spoke of his wife. But the fate of the Crawley heir was very different from his own. Matthew had always been a good man, had done right by his family and those around him. He had never hurt or failed Mary, not the way Bates had failed Anna. It seemed terribly unfair that the other man had not been allowed another chance as he had.

Swallowing uncomfortably, Bates asked, "And Lady Sybil?"

"She still passed away after giving birth. Tom took Sybbie to America a few months later. It took a long time for Cousin Cora to forgive Robert. And actually... I'm not sure if she ever did, really."

They both looked at Lady Grantham, who glared disdainfully at her husband as he took another long drink of amber colored liquid out of his glass, eagerly draining the last few drops. Without hesitation, Lord Grantham reached for a carafe and poured himself another.

"Don't you think you've had enough?" his wife asked.

"I've had more than enough of you harping on me," he shot back without a hint of amusement or affection.

Bates was utterly bewildered by his employer's behavior and his complete lack of propriety, having never seen him so flippant and dismissive of his own family. "Why is he like this?"

"Guilt, mostly," Matthew answered truthfully. "He suffers under a great mountain of guilt and recrimination. Much of it goes back your death."

"_My_ death?" Bates demanded.

"Yes. He blames himself for not having listened to you sooner. Other men died that day besides yourself, but you died saving him. He believes all of that blood is on his own hands, and he has never been able to wash it away." Matthew frowned in obvious pain as he watched his father-in-law, the man he likely viewed even more as an adopted father figure. "Robert cleaned himself up after the war, but he was never quite the same. Unfortunately, he turned back to heavy drinking after Sybil's death, believing he was responsible, and the accident which took my life did not help matters. I guess some losses are just too much to cope with alone."

And Lord Grantham as very much alone, despite the three women with him in the library. His own wife looked as if she detested his very presence. Lady Mary was somewhere else entirely, at least in spirit, and only Lady Edith betrayed the slightest inclination towards seeking him out. But she hesitated to do so, obviously having been deterred from such outreach in the past. They were each of them an island unto themselves, miserable and isolated.

Bates looked away, deeply affected by the sight of his employer, his former commander, succumbing to the bottle just as he had so many years earlier. Seeing a man he respected as much as Lord Grantham suffering under the same weaknesses was disheartening.

"What will happen to him?" he asked.

Matthew shrugged a shoulder almost casually, but his tone betrayed concern. "He'll likely drink himself into an early grave at this rate, but time will tell." He paused. "Come, there is more for you to see."

Bates sighed. "I don't know that I want to see more."

The other man shot him a knowing look. "Don't you wish to see Anna?"

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><p>TBC<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who left a review for chapter one of this story. Feedback is appreciated.**

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><p>The downstairs at Downton had a quieter air to it, as though people were afraid to speak too loudly. Subtle differences marked the change of Bates' absence from the world.<p>

"It doesn't feel right here," Bates noted aloud. Beside him, Matthew said nothing as they made their way down the corridor towards the servants' hall. At the table, they found a few maids taking their seats for lunch and Ms. O'Brien sipping on a cup of tea.

"I didn't think she would be here," he said, referring to the lady's maid. But his companion did not respond to the invitation for comment. They stood to one side, watching as the scene played out.

Mrs. Hughes entered the servants' hall after a time and with a disapproving glance at O'Brien, began questioning the maids about which rooms had been sorted and if there was anything left to be done. For the lateness of the hour, the inquiries seemed unnecessary but the maids showed no confusion as they answered her mechanically, as though they were used to it from the housekeeper. Once she'd satisfied herself that the responsibilities had been discharged, Mrs. Hughes allowed herself a moment of rest as she sank into her seat at the table.

Bates noticed that everyone seemed slightly different, as though they carried with them an extra measure of tension which he had not witnessed before in his life at Downton. Mrs. Hughes looked particularly unhappy and only O'Brien carried her usual air of calm derision which she reserved for no one in particular and doled out without discrimination. A moment later, Thomas entered the room, looking as imperious and ill humored as ever. But to Bates' surprise, everyone stood up at his appearance, chairs scraping across the floor in haste as they came to attention.

Thomas took a moment to look about the room, ensuring everyone was properly giving him the necessary respect, before giving an arch nod that allowed the others to sit once more. As he took his own seat at the table, he glanced at Mrs. Hughes.

"Are the guest rooms ready?" he inquired, his tone icy and unfeeling.

"Yes, Mister Barrow," she said without taking her eyes off the table.

"Because we wouldn't want another repeat of what happened last time."

The housekeeper took in a breath but did not meet his eyes.

"Of course not, Mister Barrow."

Bates turned to Matthew beside him and asked, "Thomas is the butler now?"

"Yes. He was promoted after Mister Carson died."

The news hit him squarely in the chest, nearly knocking the wind from him. "How did he die?"

With a frown, Matthew answered matter-of-factly, "He had a massive heart attack. Thomas was promoted from Robert's valet because he knew the house the best. But no one likes him, so he rules by fear rather than garnering the respect of others. Everyone has some secret they'd rather not air to the world, and Thomas seems to know them all."

Glancing down, Bates noticed Mrs. Hughes' hand hovering over the pocket of her skirt. The movement was instinctive and he doubted that she knew she was even doing it, but Bates recognized the gesture. She wanted to reach into that pocket and remove its contents, just as she had done a number of times before. He knew in an instant from the way the fabric fell and pulled that something of weight lay within. A small bottle, Bates decided. Brandy, perhaps. Her hand shook faintly, and he sighed in understanding.

Just then, someone else entered the room and the movement caught Bates' attention, driving away all other thoughts from his mind.

Anna.

She wore the black dress of a lady's maid, but her skin seemed impossibly pale, as though she never saw the sun. Her hair style was more elaborate than he remembered ever seeing, although part of it hung down along her right side, hiding half of her face. Taking the seat beside Ms. O'Brien, she kept her eyes downcast and remained silent, almost like she was a ghost.

More servants trickled in before the afternoon meal, and Bates watched them all. No one seemed particularly happy besides the hall boys and younger maids, and even they would send occasional glances down the table towards Thomas. Mister Molesley sat in a seat beside Anna, garbed as a footman, and Baxter appeared in the uniform of a housemaid. The meal was subdued with little conversation, although Bates noticed that Molesley attempted to draw out Anna, who shied away from his attentions. Baxter spoke kindly to her but Anna gave her no more than a weak smile in response.

Suddenly, Thomas spoke, and everyone flinched at the sound of his voice. "His Lordship's new valet is set to arrive this evening. Also," he said, addressing Mrs. Hughes but speaking to everyone at the table, "Lord Gillingham will be back from London in the morning. Please see that the necessary plans are made."

Mrs. Hughes looked across the table at Anna, who froze in her seat, staring down at a plate of untouched food. Unconsciously, her hand went to her cheek, and Bates thought he saw a darker shadow beneath her hair before she smoothed it back into place. A bruise, he realized, the ugly color of the almost healed mark unmistakable.

"And before you ask, yes, he will be bringing his valet. Of course a proper Lord would travel with his valet, but because you always inquire, I confirmed with Lady Mary. I don't know what problems you have with Mister Gillingham, but they best be worked out soon. Lord Gillingham will be moving into the house after the wedding, so you'd best get used to the arrangement."

With alarm, Bates looked at Matthew. "Mister Green..." he said, his face ashen.

His dead host simply nodded in affirmance, and Bates looked back at Anna sitting at the table, whatever appetite she might have had before suddenly gone.

"He still..."

The words died in his throat, but Matthew knew what he was going to ask.

"Yes. Green still... hurt her. He tried it again the last time he was here but there were too many people around. You see, Mary is engaged to marry Lord Gillingham..." The young man in the soldier's uniform paused, his own emotions becoming apparent as he spoke of his wife moving on with another. But he pushed through the pain, keeping his tone steady as he explained Anna's predicament. "She can't go to anyone. Mrs. Hughes knows, of course, but she's already on uneven footing. He's been pushing Robert to make her retire so O'Brien can take over as housekeeper. Anna never told Mary what happened, and she has no choice but to put up with Mister Green's presence or risk losing her position."

As he finished, the woman in question pushed herself back from the table, leaving her lunch untouched. Mrs. Hughes called after her, "Anna, you haven't touched your-"

"I have to see to something for Lady Mary," she explained, excusing herself.

Bates watched her go, itching to follow her, to give her some measure of comfort. But he could not. He was a dead man, a ghost, only here to observe. Anger boiled up within him as he looked at the other servants around the table. "Surely, they must know?" he demaned. "They must see what happened to her, how she's acting?"

With a sigh, Matthew explained, "They keep themselves to themselves, Bates. They feel for Anna, but no one wants to risk losing their job."

Disgusted with the lot of them, Bates walked out of the servants' hall and followed Anna down the hall towards the boot room. She disappeared inside and found some shoes to polish. It did not seem to matter that they were already perfectly serviceable as she set about the chore with deliberate movements, the kind that helped her keep her hands steady when they threatened to shake uncontrollably with fear.

"She never married."

Bates made the observation knowing that Matthew was behind him.

"No, she never did. Mister Molesley showed an interest, but she told him she intended to stay in service for life. She never met a man she loved as much as she would have loved you."

The knowledge stabbed at Bates like a knife to the chest, and he grimaced with the pain he saw hidden behind Anna's carefully veiled expression. And as her hands moved across the shoes, the sleeve of her left hand pulled back slightly, and his eyes went to the pale mark on the delicate skin at the inside of her wrist.

A scar.

He understood exactly what that scar meant.

As if reading his mind - and perhaps he was - Matthew stated evenly, "She attempted to take her life the first time Green came back to the house with Lord Gillingham. Seeing him again after what he did to her nearly destroyed her. Luckily, Mrs. Hughes found her and got her to the doctor. But it hasn't been easy with him coming back to the house so often-"

On cue, Anna paused in her polishing of the shoes to run her fingers across that scar, her body momentarily frozen as she appeared lost in thought. She trembled faintly and Bates desperately wished he could reach out to her. But as he put out his hand to touch her shoulder, he met no resistance and passed through her body like air.

Fury beginning to truly build within him, Bates turned on Matthew. "If God truly does exist, why would he put her through this? Why would he reward such a kind and amazing person with such pain and suffering?"

Anna went back to polishing the shoes she had selected, the sound of the bristles moving back and forth across the leather filling the room, nearly drowning out her uneven breaths.

"You of all people should know that it doesn't work that way." Matthew looked down at the maid. "She might have had a happy life. But it would never have been filled with the joy she experienced from knowing you. Love isn't finite, you know. Love multiplies in such a way that the more someone loves, the more they are able to love going forward."

They both looked at Anna, who had paused in her work and just stared at the table. Her eyes were empty, glassy, and void of emotion, as though she had cut herself off from both feeling and hope.

"And perhaps you didn't consider it, Bates, but the pain Anna went through to be with you made her stronger. She was able to survive what happened to her in this room the night of that concert. Without you... she's barely hanging on. And she has no one to turn to for support."

Bates shook his head. "You can't tell me that what that man did to her was meant to happen. I don't believe that."

"No, it wasn't meant to happen," Matthew confirmed, "not any more than I was meant to die. Or you for that matter. Or Sybil or William, or anyone. Sometimes terrible things occur in life, things which make no sense. Things we'd give anything to change."

An image of Lavinia Swire entered Bates' mind as he looked at the other man, and in that moment he remembered that they each had their own deeply held regrets.

"You were lucky," Matthew continued on, swallowing uncomfortably, forcing himself to speak. "You got that second chance, with only an injured leg and a discharge from the army to slow you down. And despite your hardships, you found happiness again. Few get that kind of opportunity. Few that do are as lucky to find the life you found."

Bates thought about Anna - his Anna - the way he'd seen her the night before, as she retired to their bedroom at the cottage. She had looked genuinely happy, both relieved that their latest trials were over and excited to move on from the trouble which had plagued them of late. Knowing that he could always find solace in Anna's smile and comfort in her arms, Bates had long ago recognized that was well worth the pain he'd endured in his earlier years. But it had never before occurred to him the same might be true for Anna, that she would gladly go back and endure it all again just to reach the same point in time.

"What of her second chance?" he asked, drawing a shallow breath around the lump in his throat. "Why wasn't she allowed to go back and change things for the better for herself?"

Matthew looked at him and then meaningfully at Anna's wrist, which she had pulled down to cover the pale, raised scar. "Who says she wasn't?"

Their conversation paused as someone else entered the room - Mrs. Hughes. They watched as the housekeeper approached Anna.

"Are you all right, dear?" she asked the lady's maid gently.

Anna nodded stoically. "I'll manage," she answered.

"Do you really think Lady Mary will go through with it?" Mrs. Hughes asked. Almost unnecessarily, she added, "I mean, marry Lord Gillingham..."

With a shrug, the other woman answered, "I don't know. She broke off her engagement with Sir Richard before choosing Mr. Matthew. Maybe she'll do the same again."

"We can always hope."

But the words brought Anna no solace. "I have no hope, Mrs. Hughes," she said sadly. Her features were empty, her face deliberately expressionless.

"You must have hope. You never know what richness in life might be coming. You could still get married..."

The lady's maid shook her head. "My life is service. I will never marry. Even if a good man did want to marry me, I am ruined."

"Don't say that."

Her brow creasing, Anna persisted, "But it is true. I once had a hope I would meet someone, someone I was intended to be with. I know that sounds silly..."

Frowning, Mrs. Hughes glanced towards the hallway before stating, "It isn't silly at all. I must admit... I felt the same, once."

"I don't know if I can keep going, not with him here," the younger woman confessed.

"I know it will be difficult-"

Interrupting, Anna stated, "Not difficult, Mrs Hughes. I cannot live in this house with that man. I just can't."

"But what choice do you have?" the housekeeper asked, and as she finished the question, Bates recognized the slightest of slurs which confirmed his earlier theory. The woman hid it better than Lord Grantham, but she was just as much of a drunkard as the lord of the house.

She sighed. "Oh well, we best get on then."

The two women did not touch, but there was a moment of camaraderie between them before Mrs Hughes moved about her day and left Anna to finish her work in the boot room.

"The Mrs. Hughes I knew would never let this happen," he told Matthew.

The younger man dipped his head apologetically. "That isn't the woman you knew," he told Bates. "Mister Carson's death hit her hard. She's had no one to lean on herself, let alone allow others to lean on her."

Bates shook his head. "This cannot all have changed because of my death. It isn't possible that my coming to Downton could have made such a positive change."

Matthew responded, "Perhaps your presence was more important than you thought."

"But why would you show me this," Bates asked, "if there is nothing I can do to change it?"

"Would you change it, if you could? Not long ago you were convinced that Anna would be better off if she'd never met you."

He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering those feelings of worthlessness and self loathing. She deserved better - she always had and she always would. But she _wanted _him, despite all the suffering their relationship had brought her. Bates would always regret the pain he'd brought her. Nothing could change that. However, having glimpsed a window into her future without him, he realized that her life could have gone much worse.

His eyes opened again, and he truly saw the Anna sitting before him. Misery was written in every line of her delicate body, and she held out no hope of an escape. If her employer married Lord Gillingham, then Mr. Green would be in the same household every day - threatening and menacing and reminding her of the horror he had inflicted on her body and soul. It was no wonder she'd tried to kill herself once, and Bates would not see that happen again. And beyond all of that, she'd given up on love or the possibility of a different life.

"I would give anything to spare her such pain."

"Would you trade your life?"

Matthew asked the question as though it was a momentous thing, something people considered with great weight and thought - not something to be given lightly.

Bates answered without a second's hesitation, "I would trade my soul, if it would spare Anna's suffering."

As a non-believer, the concession was less than it might have been for others. Despite his upbringing, the valet had not considered himself a Christian for a very, very long time. But he recognized the concept of a person's spirit, the one thing that might persist after death. But despite everything, he would gladly give up that one chance at immortality to have another few minutes with Anna. In the face of winged angels and promises of heaven forever after, Bates' only concern was for the incredible woman who had shown him greater love and devotion than he'd ever known.

Matthew challenged him in a gentle, controlled tone, "And what if the best thing for Anna was to have you with her? Even if you cannot always protect her. Even if you might occasionally cause her heartache with your words or actions. God knows, none of us are perfect." The younger man blinked back tears before saying quietly, "When I think of all the time I cost Mary, the time we could have been together..."

Staring at him for a moment, Bates noted, "With all due respect, sir, I don't think you understand what Anna has been put through."

He turned to look at Anna, or the shadow of the woman he'd known currently inhabiting her body. Her shoulders were hunched and she appeared impossibly thin, as though a stiff wind might blow her away completely.

"I understand that it was worse for her without you by her side," Matthew told him. "You gave her hope and love and support. Sometimes, when we give our lives for others, that is what it means."

Anna paused for a moment in her work to look up and around, as though she had heard them talking. Bates never took his eyes off of her as he asked, "What can I do to set things right?"

He looked back to Anna. Her eyes were so vacant, the set of her shoulders so despondent that he felt the overwhelming urge to touch her and wrap her in his arms. He stepped forward, and in that moment, something happened. Something changed. Bates felt a tingling sensation and as he turned to question Matthew, the other man was gone.

His eyes swept back to Anna, but her body was twisted and she was suddenly staring right at him. She could _see _him.

There was curiosity in her eyes, but beyond that, he could make out the fear. Her gaze bounced between his form and the door immediately behind him even as the rest of her body tensed.

"Hello," he managed, taking an involuntary step back from her. Bates recalled how terrified his wife had been after Green had attacked her, the months of nightmares and flashbacks which made her irritable and fearful seemingly at random times. There were times he could not even touch his wife, those memories came back to her so strong. And the woman in front of him did not know him, did not recognize him or take solace at his presence. He was a threat to her, the same as any strange man.

"Who are you?" Anna managed to choke out, the question barely louder than a whisper. Her eyes again swept past him as though she were looking for escape.

Somehow, Bates knew what to say.

"I'm his Lordship's new valet." As he spoke, he felt the familiar weight of his packed case appear in his left hand.

She met his pronouncement with a moment of silence and he wondered if she would call him a liar. He attempted a nonthreatening smile, and while she did not return it, he saw her tension dissipate slightly. Momentarily reassured that he was not going to attack her, Anna's eyes stopped trying to see around him to the exit and dropped to the cane in his right hand. Her expression reminded him greatly of Ms. O'Brien's first reaction when he appeared at Downton.

"You're early," she finally stated, her voice lacking inflection.

"I came on the milk train. I thought I'd spend the day getting to know the place and start tonight."

It felt strange, echoing those words from so long ago. The woman before him was anything but a stranger to him, but to her, he was nothing. Everything between them had been wiped clean. He suddenly recalled that he had not introduced himself.

"I'm John Bates," he said, setting down his bag and hooking his cane into the crook of his left arm. He held out his hand to shake hers, but she regarded him coldly in response, refusing to take it. She looked at him as though he were a loathsome thing, a villain and a liar.

"I better take you to Mister Barrow," she said, moving to skirt around him. But Bates stayed in the doorway of the boot room, momentarily startled by her shortness.

With a sigh, Anna said quietly, "Please let me by."

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he ventured. He stooped to get his bag, but was not moving fast enough. Panic sprang into her eyes.

"Let me by," she said again, more forcefully, and this time, Bates stepped aside with haste. Anna pushed past him into the corridor.

Once she was out in the open hall, Anna was able to take a breath and calm herself. "I'm sorry," she said, looking from him down towards the servants' hall where the others were still gathered eating breakfast. One hand went to her stomach in a gesture he recognized as she tried to sooth herself.

"No, it is for me to apologize," Bates said quickly. "I should not have cornered you in such a way. I am entirely in the wrong."

She raised her eyes to look at him, and for just a moment he glimpsed a bit of the old Anna, the woman who had survived not only a horrible assault by her attacker, but also being falsely imprisoned for that man's murder. He glimpsed his wife's spirit buried deep within this poor woman. He recognized the spark of fire, of life inside of her. But just as quickly, it was gone and Anna looked away.

The Anna he had known was no longer within this woman. She had been entirely changed by her experiences, and rather than continuing to struggle through the hardship, she was on the verge of giving up. He noticed her rubbing at her wrist once more and wondered what was going through her mind at that moment.

"Come with me," she said briskly and walked away from him.

Bates took a step to follow her, but as he did so, the case in his hand vanished and the corridor shifted. With his surroundings suddenly blurred out of existence, Bates looked around in confusion. For a few seconds, he thought he had been struck blind. Wherever he had been taken, it matched the place where he had been before, but instead of bright light, he saw only blackness.

Matthew appeared again, and the sight of him startled Bates. "Where is she?" he asked, looking around, trying to see through the dark. "What happened to her?"

"She's still there," Matthew said, "but what happens to her now is up to you."

"Let me go back," Bates plead. "I can help her. I can protect her from Green. She doesn't have to live that way."

The dead man shook his head. "She is beyond your aid, I'm afraid."

Shaking his head, Bates insisted, "She doesn't have to be. Let me go back. Give me another chance, and I can be there for her. I can keep Green away from her and give her what she needs to heal. Please, I'm begging you."

Tears had formed behind his eyes and he made no effort to stop them from escaping down his cheeks.

"You yourself said that you were no good for her," Matthew pointed out. He added apologetically, "I can't let you go back. You were only meant to observe. I shouldn't have let you speak to her at all."

Having his own feelings turned back on him stung, but Bates was willing to admit, "I was wrong. I can be of use to her, if only you'll let me."

"I'm sorry, Bates." Matthew took a step back, and his form began to dim, leaving him swallowed by blackness.

"Please!" he shouted, his breath catching.

He tried to reach out for Matthew, but the man was already gone. Bates was alone in the dark. Fear did not touch him, not in the way he would have thought. His only concern was for the woman they'd left behind at Downton, the shattered bits of her tortured spirit ready to crumble into glass-like shards.

"Please let me go back to her."

Bates spoke the words aloud, not even knowing who he was appealing to any longer. But if everything he had just seen was orchestrated by a God or a power beyond his comprehension, he had to try.

* * *

><p>He awoke to the feeling of warmth. Light was scarce but in the dimness he was able to make out movement near him, and Bates reached out a hand to touch whatever had just been placed on top of him.<p>

A blanket. His hands recognized the familiar fabric of the warn quilt even as his mind began to adjust to his surroundings.

"I didn't mean to wake you," came a soft voice, and he could have cried as he recognized its owner. She reached past him to turn up the oil lamp, the wick having burned very low. As she pulled away, his hands captured hers.

"Anna." He said her name like a prayer, a thanks, and an absolution.

"You fell asleep down here again," she chided him, situating herself on the arm of his chair. "I thought I'd let you sleep but didn't want you to get cold."

As she finished her explanation, Anna reached out to tuck the quilt in around him a bit more, but Bates took hold of her hands in both of his once more. They were warm and solid in his grasp, reminding him that she was indeed real. She shook her head in bemusement at his odd behavior, but permitted his possessiveness. Likely sensing his need for reassurance, she brought their entwined fingers to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. Her lips were soft but very, very real.

"It was all a dream," he mused.

Anna arched an eyebrow at him and asked, "What kind of dream? A bad dream?"

"Yes. A nightmare, one of my own making."

Smiling at him indulgently, she said gently, "Well it is over now and you are safe and sound. Would you like to come to bed with me? It has gotten late."

Bates nodded. Her hands were still in his own, and she used his grasp on her to help him get out of the chair. But once he was standing, he still did not let go of her hands. Rather, he turned them over to look at her wrists. The faint bruises he remembered seeing in the jail from her shackles had faded entirely, leaving behind unblemished skin. He brought first one and then the other of her wrists to his lips and kissed them reverently before pulling her into his arms. Anna snuggled into his embrace and Bates sighed at the secure feeling of surrounding her so completely.

They stood that way together for a long moment before she gently offered, "Do you want to talk about our nightmare?"

He pulled back from her enough to see her face and responded, "No, not tonight. We should sleep."

He followed her up the stairs, extinguishing the lamp behind them. In their bedroom, he changed for bed while she waited for him under the covers. And once he joined her, she moved over to his side, fitting her body against his as she rested her head in the crook of his arm.

"I'm so happy you're home," he told her. "It seems as though every time we think our troubles are over, something new comes up."

"Perhaps," she agreed. "But whatever comes next, we will face it as we were meant to - together."

Anna hummed in contentment as she began to fall asleep.

"Together," Bates said gratefully.

Bates stayed awake a long time just watching her and reveling in the warmth of her pressed against him. The details of his dream were fading, but parts of it remained as stark images in his conscious mind. His guilt and recriminations from earlier in the evening were not gone either, but now they could be held more easily at bay as he truly considered Anna's life in his absence. And for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to consider the value of his affection for her and his role in her life. Looking down at his wife, he noticed Anna was smiling in her sleep, obviously enjoying some aspect of her own dreams.

"Sleep well, my love," he whispered before closing his eyes.

_fin_


End file.
